


What You Like

by LMT



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Fantasy of nonconsensual act
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28909386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMT/pseuds/LMT
Summary: His awareness is all concentrated in the loud hot stinging on the side of his face.  It was a hell of a slap.
Relationships: John Kreese / Amanda LaRusso
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	What You Like

**Takes place after Amanda smacks Kreese and leaves the dojo.**

** Warning: This involves masturbating – to a fantasy that includes nonconsensual elements.  **

* * *

John Kreese walks around the mat a little, tugging at the towel around his neck, feeling the sweat still prickling between his shoulderblades. Before this, he’d been in the middle of a workout.

He doesn’t feel like working out now. His body is still pumped and awake, but now his awareness is all centered around the loud hot stinging of the side of his face.

The side that feisty little Mrs. LaRusso just slapped good and hard a few minutes ago.

He’d bottle that slap if he could. She cracked him right on the flat of his cheek, hit him _across_ the face, missing his temple and his ear. Hit him sharp and sudden and with plenty of force.

It was all of the good stuff and none of the bad; he can savor the fierce little pain of it and the rush of humiliation at how it turned his head for him, but there’s no ringing or headache and in a few minutes when the blood drains, there will be no sign of it left at all.

He touches the spot lightly. It’s warm.

His other hand drifts down, palms himself over his pants and it feels good; he’s _very_ hard now. He eyes the door. He could leave it unlocked, in the hopes that she comes back, but he knows it’s unlikely. Far more likely the unlocked door will just distract him, keep him from focusing his attention on what he’s doing. He can’t relax in front of an unlocked door.

He meanders over to the door, flipping through a catalog of favorite fantasies, but none of them are really _right_ for this moment, when what has unexpectedly awoken his interest is a perfect slap from a beautiful woman.

Fine – he’ll take her, then. He locks the door and starts the trip to the back room with his hands at his sides – not on his cheek, and not on his cock. He concentrates on the last of the fading sting, and finally once he’s crossed the whole floor he brushes his fingers over the spot. There’s a lingering sensitivity that makes the touch a real delight; it raises goosebumps on his arms and neck.

He sits on a grappling dummy on the floor – crashes down to land on it hard, laughing a little as he gets comfortable. “Sorry, pal,” he says to it – voice soft and raspy; he hadn’t planned on speaking. Pats it on the chest.

He takes himself out and starts, firm and dry as usual. His back is to a concrete wall, he’s facing the room’s door, and the building is locked up, so after a moment he closes his eyes and tips his head back and _goes away_.

Mrs. LaRusso. Beautiful woman. He strips her – pulls the jacket back down her arms, her shirt over her head. Unbuttons her jeans and tugs them down her thighs. Her body is toned and tight and clean, her tits firm, her belly flat. 

There’s a neat bush between her legs; he likes a woman to be just groomed, and not bare. He scratches his fingers through the curls, slow and thorough, feeling every inch of her before finally pushing between her folds to encroach on her all the way. _Very nice,_ he says. Stroking up and down the length of her slit, feeling her damp. _You have a nice cunt, Mrs. LaRusso,_ he tells her. _I’m very much looking forward to exploring it._ He looks into her eyes as he pushes two fingers into her tightness, slowly and all the way, until he’s holding her pretty little bush in his palm. _There,_ he says.

 _Screw you, you bastard._ Her eyes are burning.

 _Relax, doll, you’re going to love it._ He pumps in and out, slow and purposeful, watching her rage mount as she’s violated.

God, she is a sight. And he’d love to stand and do this all day, to admire her body, play with it, while she stands frozen and glares impotently at him.

But he wants _her,_ he wants her to _act,_ and he can’t do that many things at once – imagine her body and what she’ll do with it, imagine what _he’ll_ do with it, how it will feel… all while jerking himself off here on the floor.

Taking himself out of the equation will simplify things drastically. Immediately they’re gone from the dojo; Mrs. LaRusso is in a sun-striped bedroom somewhere, fully naked, kneeling up on the bed and there’s a man under her.

She’s riding him, moving up and down, and he can see in this better light that her body is tan and shining. _That’s right,_ he thinks, but doesn’t say it to her, just lets her fuck. _You give it to him._ She rolls her hips forward and back, sinuous, and he watches her move like he’d watch his students – checking her sweat and the heaving of her chest to know how hard she’s working. 

_Step it up._ She does, bouncing now. Her tits too. _Touch her._ The man reaches up, kneads at her, pinches her nipples so that she gasps out loud. _Good. Harder._ He’s talking to both of them, and they both obey.

 _You almost there, sweetcheeks?_ he purrs. _He’s_ almost there. 

She nods, hard, grinding. _I’m almost there,_ she says breathlessly. _Come on – Daniel-…_

He notices for the first time who exactly is lying beneath her. (He does realize he’s mistakenly picturing the boy as he _was_ , not as he _is,_ down to his skinny little arms and his headband, but he can’t be bothered to correct himself).

Mrs. LaRusso throws her head back and cries out; he watches the muscles of her abdomen flutter as he comes into his hand. It’s very satisfying. She _is_ a sight.

He lets the picture fade, opens his eyes, moves lazily to stand and clean up.

He reaches up to his face one more time, but the interesting sensations are all gone now; his cheek feels normal again. That’s a shame.

* * *

**The End.**

**Sorry. SORRY. SORRRRRYYYYYYYY. This is what my brain churned out last night when it was supposed to be sleeping. What the fuck, brain.**


End file.
